


Knowledge is Power

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy stays in New Zealand and gets more than he bargained for.   Follows <a href="http://v-angelique.dreamwidth.org/95439.html">Rethinking Kismet</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowledge is Power

**Author's Note:**

> The Tangled Histories verse exists in a world where the existence of vampires is known and accepted, and a handful of vampire families make up somewhere between two and ten percent of the world population. In this verse, vampires are not affected by sunlight and there is no great universal conflict between mortals and immortal. Vampires generally only take human blood that is offered willingly, and there are plenty of humans willing to offer. They can only die from not feeding enough and perhaps a few other rare conditions. The most important things to these vampires are age, family, and respect. Various pairings will be explored in the verse, and stories may jump around the chronology, but I'm going to try to write so that they can be read as standalones. In other words, I'm trying to avoid a WIP series, and there's no telling how long it'll take me to tell these stories, but they'll appear sporadically and all be listed under the Tangled Histories heading in my fic index.

  


  
It's a week before Andy returns to the little cottage nestled into the cove with its striking view of the sea. When Karl opens the door, it is evident that he hadn't expected Andy back, and perhaps it would have been smarter to stay away. He isn't sure, in fact, why he's returned, for he isn't going to harm Karl – jealous as he is, he isn't that kind of vampire – and in fact the week without seeing Marton has been good for him, the frequent swims and runs through the fields and hills restorative. He isn't particularly keen on dwelling on his hurt, either, but he realizes as he slips into the front room that he is no longer particularly focused on Marton. Yes, there is the dull pain, settled familiarly into his chest alongside the old edge of that unnameable feeling he harbors for Elijah. But Andy is used to that, and he lives with it without any concentration. Instead, he genuinely is here to see Karl, for he can see that the man is talented despite the fact that Andy doesn't have an artistic bone in his body and he knows that he will make a gift worthy of Sean. Andy owes his brother something, after the past fifty years or so, and aside from that, he feels oddly comfortable with Karl. With a vampire's intuition, he knew after a few minutes in a room with the man, once the initial pang of jealousy wore off, that they would get along well together, that Andy could _like_ Karl. He is quiet but strong, like Andy himself, and perhaps he carries burdens of his own but he doesn't wear them on his sleeve. Andy likes that.

"Can I get you a cup of tea?" Karl offers as they move deeper into the room, gesturing to the sliding doors. "We can sit out on the patio while we talk, if you like. Shame to waste such a beautiful day indoors."

Andy smiles, cocking an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling that that's what you've _been_ doing all morning?" he replies, and Karl laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Is my obsessiveness so obvious? Really, I just got wrapped up in something."

Andy nods, shifting his weight. "Tea would be lovely. No sugar."

Karl smiles and ducks into the kitchen, and Andy slides the door aside to step out onto the patio, where the day is warm and sunny but a moderately strong breeze is coming in off the water. Slowly pacing the perimeter of the flagstones, he runs his hand over the edge of the kiln, feeling rough brick and bending at the waist to peer inside. It's almost like a little house, a few clay sculpture pieces cooling inside. Seashells, he realizes with a snort as the door opens again at his back.

"You can't do ironwork in there, can you?" Andy asks, straightening and nodding slightly to Karl as he takes his cup of tea from the tray.

"No, I have to go into town for anything metal."

"Does it warm the patio, when you're using it?" Andy asks, sitting in one of the chairs and stretching his legs out in front of his body.

"Quite a bit. Think of it as a very, very hot campfire. It's lovely, actually, around sunset on a cool evening."

Andy nods, acknowledging the thought of Marton and then releasing it, sipping from his teacup. "I have all the dimensions you need, and a picture," he says, pulling a folded sheet of paper and a computer printout of a photograph from his shirt pocket, passing them across the table. Karl lifts the top sheet, whistling low through his teeth when he examines the photograph.

"This must be ancient," he whispers with a tone of awe, and Andy smiles.

"It is very old, but he keeps it polished and in good shape."

"So I see. What about this battle, then? When was it?"

"1138," Andy replies, sitting back and watching the tide roll in as he speaks, telling a story Sean recalled to him only once but which has stuck in his better-than-mortal memory next to facts he's gleaned from books and other sources. "It was called the Battle of the Standard, in Yorkshire. It took place in a lowland called Cowton Moor," he explains, hearing the faint scratch of Karl's pen as he takes notes but not looking away from the waterline. "The English were outnumbered by King David's forces, and they were on the defensive, but they kept them off. Mostly local militia, not professional soldiers. They were used to raids, you know, the Scots would come in from the North and take women, children… really barbaric-like."

"Well I suppose there was barbarism on all sides, at a time like that," Karl reasons softly. Andy bristles slightly at the gentle rebuke, but of course he couldn't know, and he isn't talking about Sean. He's right, practically speaking, and it won't do well to anger.

"Yes. I suppose you're right, though the English didn't see it that way. Point is, they managed it, though they were outnumbered – David had expected surprise, as it was misty that day, but he didn't get it. The English weren't… well they weren't necessarily the most patriotic bunch at the time, not yet, but the forces were bound by their sense of duty and religion and the Scots were… from what I know, they were disorganized, barbaric, but frightening because of it."

"Religion played a major role, then?"

"Well, for the higher-ups. I think it varied, among the men. There was an Archbishop, the Archbishop of York, well he'd done a lot of work getting the men together and he tried to whip them into a Christian frenzy. The standard, the one the battle is named after, it was a mast on a cart with a pyx on top, this sort of box, you know, that carries the bread, the body of Christ, and there were banners on top."

"Do you know anything about the banners, what they looked like?"

"I didn't think to find out, but you could. They were the banners of the ministers there, it couldn't be too difficult to find on the Internet."

Karl nods, making a note. "What about weaponry?"

"Swords, mostly, and arrows and spears. There were horses as well, mounted knights."

"And the Scots just withdrew, you said?"

"They suffered heavy casualties. But yes, they realized they couldn't go much further and they withdrew. The English followed but not far, I think they were exhausted."

"And it only lasted a day?"

"A few hours. It was about territory, and rights to the Crown. These battles were relatively common."

Karl shakes his head, murmuring as if to himself. "So civilized. I find it hard to see people as barbaric when they fight and then separate, when they plan it out so carefully and stop the fighting after an acceptable loss of human life has been reached."

"They were violent times."

"Yes, but a different kind of violence. Today the great nations want to decimate, to conquer, they wouldn't leave that battlefield until every last soldier, every last _civilian_ is crushed, and the victorious army will follow the loser to the very gates of Hell," Karl murmurs, his hand tightening to a fist and his face creased with pain. Andy frowns, wondering what he can say to that, but there is nothing. He agrees with Karl.

"See if you can find out about those banners. If there are any drawings of the battle, or of this standard," Karl says quietly after several minutes have passed, the melodic crash of the waves marking the time. "Come back in a few days."

Andy nods and finishes his tea, then sees himself out.

~*~

When he comes back to the cottage, Karl has prepared lunch – a fine lunch, in fact, with amazing chicken salad sandwiches and a green salad, served with crisp white wine. Andy mumbles his appreciation around a mouthful of food, and Karl laughs, shaking his head.

"It's a passion of mine," he admits. "Cooking. We don't really have a national cuisine, but… I borrow."

"It's fantastic," Andy compliments once he's washed down his bite with a swallow of wine. "I'm rubbish in the kitchen. Lazy, I suppose," he admits with a slow grin.

Karl laughs and shook his head. "I'm an errant cook. I forget things, once nearly set a fire. I try not to cook alone too frequently, but it's immensely soothing. Just something of a… harmony, when it's just you and the food. My own tribute to the bounty of nature, I suppose."

Andy smiles and nods, eating a forkful of salad. "I would think… that your work is something of a tribute as well."

"It is," Karl agrees. "In a way. I try, anyway, as much as I can. I want to repay the world for what it's given me."

"Are you a religious man?" Andy asks, curiously.

"Not… as such. I consider myself spiritual. I'm closest to the Taoist tradition, and I think I derive some spirituality from the Maori relationship to the land that's all around me, but I don't practice anything. I like art, literature, poetry… it all seems wrapped up in something bigger, you know? The universe has given me a number of very precious gifts, but I don't know that I would call it God."

Andy understands that, and he says as much. "I'm not sure I believe in anything religious, in any God. I believe in the goodness of those I love. That's often enough."

"It is," Karl agrees, smiling and raising his glass. They clink and sip and pass another hour in conversation before Andy thinks to show Karl the drawings he's found. They make a plan for three days hence, and Andy slips off with the sunset, not thinking too carefully about the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway as he leaves.

~*~

The sketches Karl shows him are fantastically ornate, and he admits that he can't imagine them in the form of iron but Karl laughs, explains that the detail may change but the concept will be the same. Unlike what Andy had expected, two pieces that would hold the sword horizontally on the wall, lying flat, this will be a single piece, with screws drilled into the wall, carefully designed to tightly fit around the sword's handle and hold it upright and vertical. The figures of soldiers will make a half-ring, with the standard at the centre, rising up nearly a foot, and a second simple metal ring will loop from the banners to the wall, providing extra insurance. It will need to be carefully mounted on a strong beam in the wall, because of its weight, but Andy assures Karl that this will not be a problem.

He puts the sketches aside and they start a conversation about sea life and coral, sparked by the touristy pieces Karl has recently finished. Andy admits that he has tried diving a few times since he's been here, though he does not admit that he doesn't need a mask. He's not sure how, but he doesn't think Karl knows. And Marton had had trouble noticing, had said that vampires aren't common here. Indeed, he hasn't met one, and he hasn't been showing off in any way for Karl. He'd have no reason to listen carefully for the intake of breath.

They walk slowly down to the water, barefoot, and Karl points out various features of the landscape in the patient voice of a natural teacher. He pauses several times to make sure Andy isn't bored, that he doesn't have something better to do, but Andy waves him off and asks another question, learning the origins of shells and washed up plant life and techniques for finding crabs and other edible creatures. Karl warns him about sharks and jellyfish, and Andy smiles, nodding seriously as if taking it into account.

They end up sitting on a huge piece of driftwood and Karl tells him about the history of the land, about its people, both pakeha and Maori, about Karl's own family and the hodgepodge culture. Andy learns that Karl's grandfather was killed in the war, and he thinks he may understand Karl's fierce pacifism. He certainly understands it on a personal level, and they pass easy silences together. Again, they talk until the sun begins to set, and Andy leaves by way of the beach, after a firm handshake and a genuine smile. He whistles to himself until he's clear of the eyeline from Karl's patio, and then he submerges his body, kicking his way deeper and deeper until he can meet the sea creatures of whom Karl spoke and immerse himself in the cool and healing depths.

~*~

Even before the piece is finished, they meet for lunch in Wellington, for no reason at all. Andy is slightly surprised, but not entirely. The restaurant is a local-type place, specializing almost entirely in seafood, and Karl asks him about London and his family. Andy hesitates only a moment, then describes his mother and two sisters, knowing that Marton might have mentioned him, that he gave Marton his whole family history but not the days of his childhood, nothing of his youth or his poverty.

As Marton had said, there are many Andrews, and Karl calls him Andy, neither of them knowing his surname. It seems improbable that Karl still has no idea, but then again perhaps Marton chose to keep the strange evening's story from his lover, either for its discomfort or for its insignificance. Either way, Andy is glad, for he enjoys this burgeoning friendship. So he describes his birth family and Sean as if Sean is one of them, and he tells Karl about London though he finds himself slipping between the details of 1820 and the city he knows now.

They walk a few blocks together before Andy takes his leave, heading in the direction of a house he's found where a few of those insipid vampire groupies live. He feeds from them politely, without sexual advances, though every time he comes back he can feel the hope tingling in the air. Today he is in a good mood, though, and he doesn't send silent nasty thoughts in their direction, instead hopes that one day they will find happiness, as he has – and he is pleased to admit it to himself – in this moment.

When Karl gives him the figure, he is clearly embarrassed, even more so that he has requested it a day before the piece is ready, but a trustworthy friend is in trouble and needs a loan. Andy does not hesitate, but comes to the cottage immediately and adds two hundred extra dollars to the total, knowing Karl will not count the money in front of him.

"Thank you," Karl murmurs, slipping the bills into the pocket. "I appreciate it, I know it isn't…"

Andy waves him off. "I know quality work when I see it. And I trust you."

Karl smiles and nods. "I hope Sean will like it."

"Oh, I'm sure he…" Andy pauses, eyeing Karl strangely. "Sean."

Karl's eyes go wide, and Andy realizes. Thinking on his feet, he had changed Sean's name to Stephen over lunch, and he knows he never made the slip himself. "Do you know everything, then?" he asks calmly.

Karl nods. "Marton… he told me everything that happened. Everything you told him, I… he's been different, since then, it's been on his mind, but…"

"Why on earth did you let me into your home, then?" Andy asks, completely baffled, and a little peeved that his new friend felt a need to lie with him.

Karl laughs. "You're immortal, Andy. You're a vampire. I knew in an instant, the description, you fit it perfectly, and in a way I'd been… expecting you. At first I was afraid, when I thought about it, the possibility that you'd find me; Marton was worried too… he told me that he had mentioned what I do, and… well I thought about it, but then the fear dissipated. What could I do, after all? You could kill me in the blink of an eye, and fear wouldn't help me. I felt good, I felt… comfort, knowing that Marton was the only thing you wanted and that, when you killed me, he would never have you, not… that kind of a man. He could never love that kind of a man, not through force or any other means. And I knew how intense your desire for him was, he could feel it, and I know enough about vampires…" Karl breaks off, laughing dryly. "I know more about vampires than he does, at any rate."

"But then…"

Karl stops him with a raised hand. He pauses for a moment, though, and then he sits, and Andy can see that he does so out of weakness, his legs trembling faintly. Andy sits in the chair facing Karl's, so that they are on a level, and waits.

"That… that was the paradox. I was so prepared for you to lash out, to kill me or hurt me, to hate me, to be in this jealous rage and… you weren't. Because you _aren't_ that kind of man, and when you asked for something for Sean I knew it was out of love, and over these weeks I've grown to value you as a friend, and see something Marton didn't see, I think, a different Andy… I've grown to like you, quite honestly, and you've never done anything to change that. Marton knows, he knows that we've been enjoying each other's company and he's glad, he… he knows that it's something I need, and he doesn't have a jealous bone in his body. He respects that you haven't come to him, and he trusts me when I tell him that you have no ulterior motive, because I know you don't. He respects that you treat me as me, and that your continuing to come here has nothing to do with him. It doesn't, does it?"

"No," Andy answers honestly. "It doesn't."

"I don't blame you," Karl continues, shaking his head and smiling, though he's still trembling. "I mean how could I? I fell in love with Marton from the moment I saw him. And I don't think that's changed, how you feel for him, I really don't, but I'm not bothered by it, because I see how noble you are, how much honor you carry… you're an amazing man, and I… I'm _confused_, because I want you, in a way. I want you," Karl repeats in a steadier tone, looking up and meeting Andy's eyes, placing his hand over Andy's. And he doesn't have to say it, because Andy can see it clearly in Karl's eyes, feel it in his skin, in the blood beating against his palm. It's something he's never quite felt before, something like what he feels for his brothers and fathers but different, more urgent… he's never felt it, but he recognizes it, and he knows it cannot be.

"No," he whispers, standing quickly. "I can't… you do, and you shouldn't, and I feel it, but I can't," he exclaims in a rush, his thoughts swirling madly in his head. "I can't. I won't hurt you, or Marton, I don't… you don't deserve… you're both so… you're not… you deserve each other," he mumbles even as he feels his heart breaking.

If he thought the pain was acute before, he can't bear it now, not as he makes this sudden realization and sees the look in Karl's eyes. He stumbles as he backs up to the door, fumbling for his wallet and letting another hundred float carelessly to the floor. "Post the… the sculpture, you can post… find a vampire, they'll… McKellen, they'll know the… ask any vampire, they'll tell you where… I have to go," he gasps, falling out of the door as Karl stares after him, paralyzed, with eyes full of love and pain. Andy hits the ground running, and he doesn't know where he's going, but he does know one thing. It is far away from here.  



End file.
